


The Truth

by Fogfire



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:45:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: Prompt: “This? That thing right there? You know what that is? A lie.”





	The Truth

The cobblestone pavement is wet beneath your feet. You’re afraid that you might slip in your shoes, but not afraid enough to stop running. Your shoes fit your dress, but neither is made for outrunning an assassin. The heels make an awful noise and you jump into a narrow back alley to pull them off, holding them tightly between your hands as a makeshift weapon.

You hold your breath in anticipation, but there’s no noise that could tell you where your attacker is waiting.

Damn, he’s good.

You follow the alleyway slowly, looking right, left, right while your breath turns into a white fog in front of you. The sprint and the adrenalin keep you warm, but your heart is beating so fast and loud in your chest, you can hear almost nothing else.

But then, a movement. You hurl your left shoe at the shadow and run, hearing a muffled sound of pain from behind you.

The pavement is cold under your bare feet, there’s something glistening on it that you mistake for ice until a sharp pain running through your right leg corrects you. Shards of glass.

You try to keep running, but the pain slows you down.

Another shadow, right in front of you, you throw your other shoe but miss.

A flashlight lights up before you, blinding you. There are footsteps behind you and you blink, still limping. If you have to die, you’ll go down fighting.

The well-known glistening of a gun barrel and you drop to the floor.

Two shots, the sound of a body falling down, quick footsteps.

“Y/N! Are you okay?!”

“Benji!” You groan and lift your head to look at the man with the flashlight, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“And you tried to kill me with a stiletto.”

He pulls you up by your arm. Dark figures slip out of the shadows. You recognize Brandt just by the way he moves, but the other look foreign to you.

You try to take a step and suck in a breath when red-hot pain shoots through your leg.

“Easy there,” Benji pulls your arm over his shoulder, “You got injured.”

“Thanks for the clue,” you snap, “I thought my leg just fell asleep.”

Benji snorts, holding back on an answer when Brandt steps over to you.

“Did you get the codes?” He asks and you roll your eyes at him and pull a small flash drive out from under your tongue.

Brandt rolls his eyes right back at you when he wipes the flash drive on your dress.

“You couldn’t just hide it in your bra?”

“What do you think a bra looks like?” You shoot back, “They haven’t invited one with pockets yet. Do I want to look like I have a flash drive-sized bump on my breast?”

“Go, get yourself patched up,” Brandt orders and you stick your tongue out at him.

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Half an hour later you’re released from the emergency room and you limp out onto the street. The sidewalk is deserted and dark, the few streetlights casting a soft, orange glow that does absolutely nothing to help the uneasiness that has settled in your stomach.

You step back into the bright light waiting room of the small hospital. You let your eyes wander and find a telephone booth at the far end of it, making your way over.

There’s a credit card hidden in your bra that you use to pay for one call. You’re halfway through the digits when you realize that maybe you should have called Brandt instead, who has been your superior agent since Ethan had dropped out. But you let yourself press the rest of the numbers anyway.

It rings three times, before a voice answers, far too awake for this time of the night.

“Dunn?”

“Hey, Benji, it’s me.”

“Hey! Are you done at the hospital? Should I come pick you up?”

You bite back a sigh and swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Yes please.”

“Sure thing, I’m gonna be there in a minute.”

He hangs up and you push your credit card back in your bra, stepping out of the booth just to let yourself fall into one of the chairs.

Despite the late hour, the waiting room is half-full. The noise is eating up your patience and, if you’re completely honest, your sanity too.

Every time someone gets up, you flinch. Every time someone coughs, your shoulders tense up. You keep an eye on the windows because you can see the doors reflected in them.

It could be the late hour, the pain medication, this particular dangerous mission or the fact that you’re one of the longest serving agents in active duty, but you feel just like one of those naive, easy-to-scare victims you usually have to protect.

You can see Benji through the windows where he’s getting out of the car, adjusting the collar of his red leather jacket.

By the time he makes it to the door, you’re already there.

“Hey!” He smiles at you, making your heart jump in your chest.

“Hey,” you grumble back and walk past him to the car. He follows you like he always does.

“How are you?” He asks when you’re both in the car, seat belts fastened. He’s very adamant about them, apparently, a mission in Morocco has taught him their importance.

“Fine,” you tell him and he leans back in his seat to look at you.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.

“No, you’re not.”

“Can you just drive me home?” You snap and he smiles and shrugs and starts the car, pulling out onto the street.

The car ride is silent and it’s bugging you. You watch his profile while acting as if you’re studying the shops you’re passing, let your eyes wander over his nose and cheekbones and rest on his lips for a second to long.

“You’re staring,” he mumbles.

“No, I’m not.”

He smiles.

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Eventually, he stops in front of your apartment.

You don’t want to get out, you don’t want to be alone.

“Do you sometimes think about leaving the IMF?” You ask and instead of answering he pulls into a parking lot and turns to look at you.

“You know, forgot that I asked, see you tomorrow,” you turn to open the door, but it’s closed.

You snort and open the child-safety lock first, but Benji simply stretches out his arm and puts his hand on yours.

“Do you sometimes think about leaving?” He asks, his voice calm and you shake your hand.

“No,” you tell him.

“This? That thing right there? You know what that is? A lie,” he answers and you feel anger boil up inside you.

“We tell hundreds of lies every day,” you snap at him.

“So what is one more, or what?” He asks back, the anger you’re feeling audible in his voice, “Why don’t you just say the truth one time?!”

“You want the truth?” You ask, “I can give you the truth! I was afraid of dying today, maybe the first time since I started working as an agent. I am afraid of being afraid, because if fear makes you do stupid things, like running in the wrong direction or shooting when you should keep quiet or calling the one person you try not to feel for because you need to hear their voice anyway.”

You’re breathing heavy now and he’s still looking at you with too much fire in his eyes.

“Why would you even try not to feel?” He asks, his voice so soft despite the feeling in it.

“Some people shouldn’t,” you tell him.

“That’s another lie.”

“Then tell me the truth,” you tell him and hold your breath when he moves, pulling you close.

You expect him to press his lips against yours, urgent and feverish, but he hugs you, enveloping you in his warmth. His lips move against your ear.

“The truth is that I’m waiting for you to let me in. Whenever you’re ready, as long as you’re honest with yourself.”

He lets go of you and opens your door.

Cold air rushes in and you slip out of the car without looking back, too stunned to say anything.

When you reach the front door of your apartment block, he still hasn’t pulled away.

You look up to the dark windows that hide your apartment before you turn around and limp towards his side of the car.

He rolls down the window before you can knock on it, looking at you with questioning eyes.

“Are you coming up with me? I make a pretty good coffee.”

And when he smiles, your heart jumps, but this time, you smile right back at him.


End file.
